These Things Called Doors
This might be a bit odd, but after having spent the past several years living with my parents, my brother, my grandmother and occasionally my grandfather,…
My 2014 Hit List
I like sleeping. A lot. Hence the reason I want to murder people who wake me up earlier than I intend to wake up. For the…
A Revelation in Ikea
I’m ogling bedspreads at Ikea when it finally hits me: I’m staying. Staying here. In the US. In Philadelphia. Not moving back to London. It’s like…
Is 26 Old Enough to Buy Your Own Socks?
I have issues with tissues. And socks. And tampons for that matter. As in I never remember to buy them—any of them— and whenever I find…
You Know You Live With Your Parents When…
The other day I noticed a new library book on the coffee table. It belonged to my mother and bore the title “How to Raise Your…
Not My Proudest Moment…
You know it’s bad when your mother hides your cell phone to keep you from drunk dialing your most-recently-snuffed-out-flame. But before we proceed with the events…
Sex and the… Parental Abode
Here’s a little known secret about Yours Truly: I live with my parents. I pay rent, and I have my own bathroom, but still: I live…
Fieldwork in Stilettos 